My Shield
by Kamen Rider Fourze
Summary: Captain America was found alive much earlier, and partnered with Natasha Romanoff, as he struggles to accept his new situation in the present day. Working together, they'll overcome any and all obstacles in their way, as they grow closer and start to understand what makes them who they are. Starts after Iron Man, but before Iron Man 2. Pairing is Romanogers.


I know I shouldn't be writing another story with four others to update, but Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier fast approaches us, and it reminded me of something.

I am a **HUGE** Romanogers shipper.

I love the idea of Steve and Natasha together, and almost every still or trailer from the new movie gave me shipping feels. So, I decided, I wanted to let my ship sail and write a story of them together. I didn't start off thinking this would be a full story, but rather a way to get my ideas out of my head. On the other hand, I just went through a Marvel movie marathon and saw all marvel movies concerning the avengers in a row. I definitely want to make this a full length story.

I'll be following the Marvel movie verse, rather than the comics, so if that's going to bother you, you're better off not reading this story.

* * *

Steve picked up his fallen shield and watched, as the glowing blue cube Johann Schmidt had obsessed over burned through the floor of the ship, until it was free-falling down into the Atlantic. Better lost in those waters than in the hands of someone _else_ who might develop delusions of grandeur.

Remembering that he still had a job to do, Steve hurried over to the pilot's seat and immediately plopped himself down, setting his shield aside and taking off his mask in the process. A quick glance towards the circular screen to his right showed the destination was set for New York, and the plane was rapidly approaching the eastern coast over the Atlantic. His breath hitched in his throat as he stared out of the massive windshield, dreading the moment he'd see the first sign of land.

He knew what he had to do.

Because there was no doubt in Steve's mind that Colonel Phillips, Peggy, and the rest of the Howling Commandos had taken complete control over the HYDRA base by now, he didn't hesitate to turn on the radio and contact the base, fully expecting an ally to respond.

"Come in, this is Captain Rogers! Do you read me?" Steve called into the radio, forced to shout over the air rushing in through a fist-sized hole in the windshield.

"_Captain Rogers, what is your loc—"_

"_Steve is that you? Are you alright?"_

Had the situation not been so dire, Steve was sure he'd be smiling at the fact that Peggy had probably just shoved Jim Morita away from the radio. Who was he kidding? Peggy was as tough as any of the Commandos. Maybe even _tougher_ than a couple of them.

"Peggy, Schmidt's dead!" Steve informed her.

"_What about the plane?"_ Peggy asked.

Steve hesitated momentarily before answering her. "That's a little tougher to explain."

"_G-Give me your coordinates. I'll find you a safe landing site." _

Steve glanced at the weapons' display and found that Schmidt had pre-armed all the bombs aboard the ship. Two of them had already been taken care of from his earlier fight with the HYDRA soldiers, but that still left six highly-destructive bombs onboard, all ready to go off at a moment's notice. "There's not gonna be a safe landing. But I can try and force it down."

"_I-I'll get Howard on the line. He'll know what to do," Peggy faltered. _

"There's not enough time," Steve replied, his hands clenching the yoke hard enough to leave indents from his fingers. "This thing's moving too fast, and it's heading for New York." He paused, and steeled himself for what he had to say next. "I got to put her in the water…"

"_P-Please don't do this. We have time, we can work this out," Peggy said, the quiver in her voice clearly audible through the radio to Steve. _

"Right now I'm in the middle of the water. If I wait any longer, a lot of people are going to die." There was no response from the radio, leaving him to imagine Peggy's reaction to his words. "Peggy… this is my choice." He pulled out his compass from the pouch on his waist and set it opened atop the altimeter, displaying Peggy's beautiful visage watching over him.

Seeing her face reminded him why he was here, what he was fighting for. Who he was fighting to protect. It gave him strength and made him all the more determined to stop this plane at all costs. With only the slightest hesitation, Steve pushed the yoke forward, forcing the plane to descend rapidly towards the icy waters.

"Peggy…"

"_Steve…"_

"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance," he said, as the plane passed through the clouds, allowing Steve to see solid ice below him.

"_A-All right,"_ Peggy said, and Steve mentally cursed his superior hearing, as it allowed him to discern the sound of sniffling that could only accompany tears. _"A week next Saturday, at the Stork Club."_

"You got it," Steve replied. The thought of him being able to hold Peggy in his arms almost made him want to stop here. But he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to go back to her.

"_8'o'clock on the dot. Don't you __**dare**__ be late. Understood?" she asked, her voice shaking more with each word that passed through her lips._

"You know, I still don't know how to dance," Steve said, his eyes never leaving the rapidly approaching field of ice. Another moment of silence from Peggy, and he was silently hoping she would say something, anything else. He wanted to hear as much of her voice as possible right now.

"_I'll show you how. Just be there…" Peggy pleaded._

The plane was practically on top of the ice by now. "We'll have the band play something slow," Steve promised, holding on to the memory of Peggy in that red satin dress she wore at the bar, and picturing her wearing that same dress for their dance. "I'd hate to step on your—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, as the plane crashed straight into the ice, forcefully throwing from his seat to the ground. Several of his ribs had broken, there was a large, bleeding gash in his right side, and he was pretty sure he had a concussion, due to the intense headache and onset of dizziness he was experiencing. The windshield had been demolished, and freezing cold water was now rushing into the plane, as it slowly started sinking.

Rather than try to climb back into the chair, Steve settled for laying flat on his back behind it, as that caused him the least amount of pain from his injuries. Already the water around him had to be at least an inch high, and was rising steadily higher. He wasn't stupid. He could see his death coming. Out here, injured and isolated, on a field of ice in a plane that was sinking fast, Steve understood quite well that no one would reach him in time.

It wasn't too long before the cold overwhelmed everything else. He couldn't move his fingers, and the numbness had blossomed into a feeling of sharp pain. It wasn't so bad, really. Project Rebirth had been worse. Felt a lot like he'd explode right out of his skin, back then. It was worth it though. He'd gotten everything he'd ever wanted.

He idly wondered if his body would eventually be found, and if he'd be able to be buried in a plot close to his mother and father, or would they create a special grave for Captain America? Either way, they'd have a service for him, the priest would say his part, and he'd be at rest. He did feel regret about leaving his men behind, and all the things he wanted to tell Peggy, but now would never have the chance. At least… at least he'd gotten to hear her voice, one last time.

But despite all that, as he lay back and slowly closed his eyes, he was relieved that he'd done his duty, and protected countless innocent lives. He got the job done, and that's what counted, right? If he died alone out here, bleeding out and freezing, it was okay with him. Because that's all that Bucky got, too.

And why should his end be any better?

* * *

"Iron Man. That's kinda catchy. It's got a nice ring to it," Tony stark remarked, as he skimmed through the article detailing his very public fight against Obadiah. He shouldn't have been surprised that word got out after the two of them had gone toe to toe in the middle of the freeway. "I mean it's not technically accurate. The suit's a gold-titanium alloy—" he said, wincing slightly as Pepper peeled off the bandage from the bridge of his nose. "But it's kinda evocative in the imagery, anyway."

Here's your alibi," Phil Coulson said, handing a small stack of blue index cards to Tony over the newspaper. "You were on your yacht. We have port papers to put you in _Avalon_ all night, and sworn statements from fifty of your guests."

"See, I was thinking maybe we should say it was just uh, just Pepper and me. Alone on yacht." Tony suggested, jerking his head to the left when Pepper decided to quickly rip off another bandage above his right eye, with far less care than the last one. He glanced up at her with the most charming smile he could muster right now, and was pleased to see that she returned it.

Briefly.

"That's what happened," Phil stated firmly. "Just read it word for word," he instructed calmly. As patient as he was, Phil could admit that dealing with Tony Stark was no easy feat. The man didn't like following orders or advice, and had no notion of subtlety whatsoever. If Tony could get through this press conference without deviating from the prepared alibi, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

Tony flipped through the cards, reading over the story Agent Coulson had given him and frowned after he'd gone through them all. "There's nothing about Stane here."

"That's being handled," Phil replied, already expecting Tony ask this particular question. "He's on vacation. Small aircraft have such a… poor safety record," he explained simply.

Tony could accept that. Neat, simple, less likely to be examined too closely. "But what about the whole cover story, that it's a bodyguard?" He asked skeptically. "He's my body—that's kinda flimsy, don't you think?"

"This isn't my first rodeo, Mr. Stark," Phil responded calmly. "Just stick to the official statement, and this will all be behind you." He turned towards Pepper next, who was clearly the more responsible of the two. "You've got… ninety seconds."

He turned to leave now that his job was done, but Pepper stopped him before he made it out the doors. "Oh, uh Agent Coulson, I just wanted to say thank you very much, for all of your help," Pepper said sincerely, knowing that Stane would have killed her for sure, had it not been for Agent Coulson's assistance.

"That's what we do," Phil replied modestly. "You'll be hearing from us."

Pepper grinned in amusement. "From the Strategic Homeland In—"

"Just call us S.H.I.E.L.D.," Phil cut her off with a knowing grin as he left the two alone to get ready for the conference. He'd barely made it to the elevators when his phone began buzzing within his pocket. The slight grin on his face faded, replaced with a neutral look that meant it was back to business. "Coulson."

"_We found _him_. Medics are examining him at headquarters now. Director Fury instructed us to inform you, before we proceeded with the surgery."_

Phil's eyes widened, to the point where he thought they'd pop right out of their sockets. They found him. His mind seemed to shut down momentarily, before everything the project leader said caught up to him. He reminded himself to thank Director Fury for the order and cleared his throat before speaking. "Surgery?"

"_He's alive, Agent Coulson."_

Phil blinked in surprise, but quickly schooled his features. He shouldn't have been surprised. "I'm on my way. If he's injured, treat him immediately."

* * *

Phil slowly approached the observation window, high above the operating room, as he stared down at the frozen body of Captain America himself, lying prone on the metal table. According to the readouts, the Captain was found with several broken ribs that had healed improperly, and needed to be reset. There was dried blood on his forehead and right hip, but no injuries were detected at either location. Even seeing it now, Phil still couldn't believe it. Captain America, his hero, was alive and on the road to recovery.

"How did he survive?"

The man, to whom Phil had posed the question, stepped up to the observation window and glanced down at the surgeons at work. The man stood at six feet, and wore an all black outfit, with a leather coat that hung down to his ankles. His missing left eye was covered by a small leather patch, though dark lines could be seen radiating out from the socket beneath the skin, a testament to the injury that had cost him the eye. "I've been told, that the Captain was in a state of suspended animation for the past sixty-four years. The doctors suspect the super serum was the only reason he survived at all."

"When will he wake up, sir?" Phil asked, struggling to keep the excitement and anticipation out of his voice.

"We estimate about a week. Per your suggestion, we'll be moving him to the facility in New York," Nick Fury answered, knowing how much admiration the agent beside him held for the hero down there. "We've constructed a hospital room right out of the '40s for him to recover. Agent Hadwell has even volunteered to dress for the period. She seemed quite eager to be the one to greet him, when he recovers."

Phil, unable to believe what he'd just heard, turned towards Director Fury in surprise. "You're going to lie to him? Sir, this is Captain America. Doesn't he deserve better than that?"

Fury was silent for a long moment before he turned towards Phil. "He'll take the news much better in a familiar setting. We don't want to _overwhelm_ him, Agent Coulson. We'll be making it easier for him to understand," he explained.

"You'll be getting his hopes up, only to destroy them minutes later," Phil countered heatedly. This, this wasn't right. Captain America's first reintroduction to the world shouldn't be with falsehoods and lies. He wouldn't appreciate that. "With all due respect, sir, that's not how we should make our first impression."

"Do you understand the term, 'culture shock', Agent Coulson?" Fury asked rhetorically. "It's the personal disorientation a person feels when experiencing an unfamiliar way of life due to immigration, or a visit to a new country. Now imagine that feeling magnified a hundred fold. Time has progressed without him, changed everything he thought he knew about the world. We are going to _ease_ the Captain into society this way, with or without your approval, Agent Coulson. Now, are you willing to help, or not?"

Phil set his mouth is a thin line, wholeheartedly against this, but then blinked and nodded. "Yes sir. I suggest bringing in a recording of an old Dodgers' game, his favorite team, to play on the radio."

Fury nodded in agreement, glad to see he was onboard with the plan. "That is an excellent idea, Agent Coulson. I'll leave that up to you. I'll need it by the end of the day. Is that enough time for you?"

"It'll be in your hands by five, sir," Phil confirmed, as he headed off to accomplish his task. He knew _exactly_ which game to pick for Fury.

* * *

Steve slowly blinked his eyes open, as he heard the faint sound of someone talking within the room. As he started regaining his senses, his hearing sharpened enough to discern that it was baseball commentary he was hearing.

"…_as the crowds well know, with one swing of his bat, this guy's capable of making it a brand new game again."_

He stared up at the white ceiling, carefully shifting his body, looking for any signs of pain, but found none. The last thing he remembered was going down in the sinking plane. Now, he was lying in a bed, without injury, and not even wearing his uniform. Glancing down at himself, he saw a white shirt with the SSR's eagle crest in the center, beige khaki pants and brown combat boots.

Had they actually found him in time, then? If they had, it was probably Howard's doing, though he imagined Peggy would have been a big part of it.

"_Just an absolutely gorgeous day, here at Ebbets Field."_

Steve finally sat up and swung his legs off the bed, taking the time to glance around the room. He wasn't in a field hospital, that was for sure. It was too… clean. Too neat. Too perfect to look like a hospital room in the middle of a war. It was also a personal room, something fairly rare with so many men getting injured or dying on the front lines. The walls were painted half sterile white, and half olive green, and the furniture was all white, including the bed frame, visiting chairs, and the dresser by the door.

As Steve kept listening to the game playing, a sense of familiarity dawned on him. He _remembered _attending this game with Bucky! It was at this point in the game that the Philadelphia Phillies had tied the game with the Dodgers, four to four.

"_The Phillies have managed to tie it up at four to four."_

But the Dodgers had gotten three men on base.

"_But the Dodgers have three men on." _

Every line of commentary coming from the radio matched up with his memory of the game. He was remembering the taste of the dog in his hand, the hot afternoon sun bearing down on them, and the tangible sense of excitement in the air, as the next batter for the Dodgers stepped up. But how could that be? He clearly remembered attending this game four years ago, way before he ever met Dr. Erskine, Peggy, or Colonel Phillips. Why was he hearing it live now? Something wasn't right here.

Before he could ponder on it any further, a woman entered his room. Her wavy chestnut hair hung down to her shoulders, and complimented her hazel-colored eyes. She wore a simple white shirt, a long olive green skirt that went down to her knees, and a pair of plain black heels. He didn't recognize her, and that bothered him. Surely if he'd been recovered, the first person to come see him would either be Colonel Phillips, Howard Stark, one of his Howling Commandos, or even Peggy. Especially Peggy. So why send this unknown woman, who didn't even look like a nurse, in first?

"Morning," she greeted with a smile, then checked her watch as she stopped in front of his bed. "Or should I say afternoon?"

"Where am I?" Steve demanded quietly.

"You're in a recovery room in New York City," she answered, unperturbed by his tone.

Steve furrowed his brow in thought. New York City? He supposed it was possible, until he heard the next bit of commentary from the radio.

"_The Dodgers take the lead, eight to four! Ohh Dodgers! Everyone is on their feet. What a game we have here today, folks. What a game indeed."_

He remembered this part clearly, because Bucky had been kissing the dame next to him at this point. Wanting to focus on something other than the fact that he was dateless, he tried his hardest to ignore his best friend for the moment by paying extra attention to the game. When the home run had been hit, and all four men had scored, the entire stadium had leapt to their feet in excitement. He remembered being unable to see the field because of all the taller people standing in front of him, forcing him to rely on the commentator to know what was happening. If there was only one thing he remembered about that game, it was _this_ moment.

"Where am I _really_?" Steve demanded more forcefully. As he stared up at her face, he saw the smile fade away, replaced by a look of nervous confusion. The smile reappeared a moment later, but this time he could tell it was fake. He'd seen a smile like that countless times in his life.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," she replied cautiously.

"The game. It's from May, 1941. I know 'cause I was there," he explained. As soon as he spoke, the woman's face confirmed his suspicions, looking very much like the kid with her hand in the cookie jar. She was lying to him.

Steve stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving her face as he watched more signs of nervousness appear. He doubted this was HYDRA's work. This wasn't their style. They would have just killed him on the spot, rather than create such an elaborate falsehood. "Now I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?"

She pressed a button in her hand, as she met the angry gaze of a man who could kill her quite easily. "Captain Rogers—"

"Who are you?" Steve shouted. No one who would go to lengths such as this, should know that Captain America was Steven Grant Rogers.

The door to the room was pushed open, admitting two men in black uniforms, each slowly approaching him from behind her with the obvious intent to restrain him. He grabbed both men by the front of their thick black vests, and threw them straight through the left wall. Following them out, he found himself in a much larger room with blue walls. There was a screen with a picture of several large apartment buildings, standing upright just outside of the fake room's window.

He knew it. He'd been captured and they tried to fool him. Wasting no more time, he turned and ran straight for a set of doors across the room from him, ignoring the woman's calls for him to wait.

"_All agents: Code 13. I repeat, all agents: Code 13."_

Steve came into a hallway with a large amount of men and women in suits. As soon as that woman's announcement had gone out, all of then turned towards him and started moving in, giving him his cue to leave. He pushed several of them down when they got too close, and finally made it out the front doors. He headed into the street and was almost hit by a taxi, as he started to run around the corner. He came to a large open square and glanced around in confusion, seeing large glowing signs, huge buildings that looked completely different in style from the ones he remembered seeing in Brooklyn, and thousands of people walking through the streets.

He was suddenly surrounded by four black cars, with more men dressed like the ones from before stepping out. There had to be at least a dozen of them. Out here, without his suit or shield, and surrounded by civilians, he was at the disadvantage. A stray shot could kill a woman or child, and it would be because of him. His shoulders tensed as he tried to think of a plan of action, until a new call rang out.

"At ease, soldier."

Turning around, Steve was face to face with someone whose stature screamed authority. This man with the eye patch was undoubtedly the one in charge.

"Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there, but we thought it best to break it to you slowly," he explained, true regret evident in his voice. That was the only thing that allowed Steve to release some of the tension in his shoulders.

"Break what?" Steve asked.

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years," the man answered after a long pause.

It only took a moment for the man's words to hit Steve light a freight train. Almost seventy years, he'd been missing? What about the war? What about his men? He looked at his surroundings again, finally able to appreciate that everything seemed… new. Then he remembered his promise.

His dance. With Peggy at the Stork Club. She would've been waiting for him at 8'o'clock sharp. If he didn't know it was impossible, he'd have suspected that his asthma had returned, as he started breathing more rapidly, understanding the full impact of what had happened to him. The world had gone on without him.

"You gonna be okay?" The man asked, with genuine concern.

"Yeah…" Steve answered without hostility. He doubted this man was an enemy. Bucky always said that in exchange for his health, God had given him a good heart and an even better judge of character, though that might have been said to make himself look better. His gut was telling him that this man did not mean him ill will. And he trusted his gut.

"Yeah I just… I had a date," he finished softly.

Fury nodded in understanding. The man had left someone special behind. Still, the hardest part was getting the Captain to understand his situation. He knew that Coulson had purposely orchestrated this situation with that Dodgers' game recording, but he couldn't be too angry with the man. Given the Captain's reaction, going with his original plan to deceive the man first would have ended up _much_ worse for them. He was just thankful that Agent Coulson was not one to say 'I told you so".

Still, with this out of the way, reintroducing Captain America to the world and giving him a purpose to live for was the next step. "I know this is tough, but we can't stand around here all day. Why don't you come with me, and I can explain everything."

Steve swallowed hard and nodded in resignation. After all, what else was there left for him to do?

* * *

Steve gratefully took the glass of water, and seated himself at the conference table facing the window, while the other two men in the room sat across from him.

"I imagine you have quite a few questions for us, but let's start with introductions. "This man is Agent Phil Coulson, and my name is Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D." Fury said, folding his hands on the table.

"Shield?" Steve asked in confusion.

"It stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, Captain," Phil answered respectfully.

Steve remained silent for several moments before speaking. "That's quite a mouthful."

"That's why we just call it S.H.I.E.L.D. And that's not a coincidence, Captain." Fury said in response to the look on the Captain's face. "We're known as S.H.I.E.L.D. now, but back in the '40s, you probably knew us as the Strategic Scientific Reserve."

"The SSR?" Steve asked in shock. This was the first thing he'd heard all day, that connected the present day to his time.

"After the war, Howard Stark reformed the SSR, and co-founded this organization, which he named after a man he deeply respected: you."

"Makes it all the more special," Phil chimed in with a smile.

Steve lowered his head, looking at the metal table without seeing it. He hadn't known Howard Stark respected him _that_ much. By the time they'd made their final assault on HYDRA's last base, he already considered the man his friend, but wasn't sure if the feeling was mutual. "The war… did we win?"

"Hell yes," Fury answered immediately. "Forced surrender from German forces all across Europe. Hitler committed suicide on April 30th, 1945 when Soviet forces assaulted Berlin. If Johann Schmidt had managed to take control of the Nazi army like he planned, things might not have turned out so well for us."

"I was just doing my part to help," Steve stated modestly, understanding that Director Fury was giving him credit for stopping HYDRA. But, that brought up another point. "What happens to me now?"

Fury and Coulson glanced at each other, a silent conversation taking place before Fury turned back to him, breathing out an almost inaudible sigh. "That's up to you, Captain. Just because the war is over, doesn't mean there aren't still threats to America. If you still want to help, to make a difference, then we could definitely use someone like you where it counts."

"Sir, that's all I want." Steve said, a determined gleam in his eyes that certainly hadn't been there a minute ago.

"Good, then welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D.," Fury said, shaking the Captain's hand. "There's just a couple of things left I have to say, before Agent Coulson takes over." He pulled out a check from inside his coat and slid it across the table to the Captain. "Your back pay. Sixty-four years of basic pay for an O-3, plus Jump and Imminent Danger pay, as well as various miscellaneous allowances add up to one fat check."

Steve took the check and felt his eyes widen in shock as he stared down at the amount he was receiving. "I've never seen so many zeroes in my life."

Fury couldn't help but smirk. Though he didn't realize it yet, even with inflation over the years, the Captain now had enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life. It was still a drop in the bucket compared to someone like Tony Stark, but it was probably _far _more than enough for someone like Steve Rogers. "It was actually because of you, that the government had to institute a new policy."

"New policy?" Steve repeated, setting the check down for the moment.

"'If a soldier is missing and presumed dead for more than twenty years, he or she forfeits all claim to back pay.'" Fury quoted. "The government cannot afford another Steve Rogers," he finished with amusement.

"If it's all the same to you, sir, I'd like to handle the rest," Phil interjected.

Fury gave the agent to his right an appraising look, before nodding in acceptance. He had other matters to attend to at the moment, like informing Stark about the Initiative. "They're waiting outside, ready to be called in when you're ready. You know what to do, Agent Coulson," Fury said as he strode out of the conference room, leaving the two of them alone.

"Before I say anything else, I just want to say it's an honor to meet you. Officially," Phil said, with a level of excitement that he only barely managed to keep in check, something Steve noticed instantly that made him smile. He was probably used to this even in his own time. "I sort of met you. I mean, I watched you, while you were sleeping."

"Oh… that's nice… I guess…" Steve muttered, looking down as he suddenly felt extremely awkward.

"I-I mean, I was present while you were—while you were unconscious. From the ice," Phil nervously corrected himself, understanding the way his words could be interpreted. "You know it's really—it's just a huge honor to be meeting you face to face. And awake."

"You ah, you seem to have a high opinion of me, Agent Coulson. I hope I can still live up to it," Steve responded politely.

"Oh you can. I mean, you're Captain America. You're the best there is," Phil hastily assured him. "And um, Captain, I just want to apologize for the lie you woke up in. I completely disagreed with that idea, and I thought you deserved the truth from the start. It's why I gave Director Fury that Dodgers' game to play."

"You gave him that recording?" Steve asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Then he actually took the time to think about it, and realized that Agent Coulson had _meant_ for the recording to help him realize he was being tricked. "Thank you. I appreciate it. But how did you know I was at that game?"

"Educated guess," Phil answered with a relieved smile, now that he knew the Captain did not blame him for that. "We have Howard Stark's old records that state you received the super serum in 1942. Your birthday is July 4th, 1918. Since you were born in Brooklyn, I figured you'd be a fan of the Dodgers, your home team. Your parents both died when you were young, so I couldn't pick a game from before you were thirteen, at least. Sometime between age thirteen and age twenty-four, when you officially became Captain America, you must have gone to at least one game. It was just a matter of picking the right one, and that game in particular was one of the closest at the time, right up until that grand slam."

Steve chuckled and shook his head in amazement at the work Agent Coulson had put into this. "That game was amazing to see, and I'll never forget it."

"As much as I'd like to keep chatting with you about casual things, we do have to move on," Phil informed him regrettably, turning his attention from the Captain to the door leading out. "You can come in now."

The door behind Steve opened, allowing two people to walk in. The first was a man with short brown hair, spiked up at the front, and light blue eyes. He was wearing a dark gray and burgundy vest, with a small eagle rest on the right shoulder and a matching pair of pants and boots. The most unique thing about his appearance was the quiver on his back full of arrows. Steve knew _he_ would be considered old fashioned now, but a bow and arrows were outdated in _his_ time.

The second was a woman with wavy crimson locks streaming down past her shoulder blades and bright green eyes, gleaming like a pair of perfect emeralds. She was wearing a black full body suit with a pair of pistols holstered on her thighs and a set of unique of bracers on each wrist shaped like a ring of tubes.

"Captain I'd like to introduce you to Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, two of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best operatives," Phil said, introducing both agents, who nodded politely at him when their names were called.

"Captain, it's an honor to meet you," Clint said, stepping forward to shake Steve's hand, who returned the shake with a firm grasp of his own.

"It's nice to meet you too, Agent Barton," Steve responded.

"Captain," Natasha greeted with a small smile.

"Agent Romanoff," Steve replied, with a nod and a friendly smile.

Phil coughed into his fist to garner the Captain's attention once more. "Agent Romanoff has been assigned as your partner for the foreseeable future. She'll help you adjust, get you used to technology, and assist you on any assignments we'd need your skills to complete."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but didn't voice any complaints. If everything she'd heard about the Captain was true, he'd be an impressive field agent, and a reliable partner. "What about Agent Barton?"

"He'll be going solo for a while," Phil answered her, before making eye contact with Clint. "Your new retainer will be Agent Hill. She has a debriefing packet waiting for you in her office."

"And doesn't she feel overjoyed about this?" Natasha quipped with a wry grin.

"You know Maria loves me, Nat," Clint joked, running a hand through his hair in an over-exaggerated fashion. He gave a casual two-fingered salute to the Captain and Agent Coulson, before heading out to hear the details on his assignment from Maria Hill, who was second only to Director Fury within S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Am I to assume you're going to be our retainer, Phil?" Natasha asked knowingly, if the grin on her face was any indication. She knew he wouldn't have let anyone else serve as a retainer to Captain America himself.

Phil coughed nervously, as Steve turned to look at him with an amused grin too. "Several other people volunteered, but Director Fury owed me a favor," he explained, completely unapologetic. "Captain, we won't have any assignments for you to undertake for a while, but your shield and new uniform are waiting for you in the armory, if you'd like to see them. I uh, had a little design input. I wanted to do more, but most of my designs were overruled."

"The uniform?" Steve asked. "Aren't the stars and stripes a little… old fashioned?"

"We've modernized it quite a bit, but not enough to be unrecognizable," Phil replied. "Besides, with each day that passes, I keep thinking that this world could use a little old fashion."

* * *

"What do you think of it?"

"It's more comfortable for sure, and it feels like I'll be able to move around in it pretty easily," Steve answered Natasha, looking over the new suit they'd provided for him in the mirror. The suit was mostly navy blue in color, save for the large silver star on his chest, the six flowing silver stripes on either side of it that stretched out to his shoulders, and the three colored stripes on his midsection, with the outer two a crimson red in color bordering a snow white stripe in the center.

He had on a pair of brown fingerless gloves and black combat boots, along with a harness connected to his belt that hooked beneath his arms and behind his neck, allowing the shield to be carried on his back. Finally, the mask had a large silver A emblazoned on the front, covered most of his head, leaving his nose, mouth, and ears exposed, and was held on by a single leather strap beneath his chin.

It was made of nomex and kevlar, granting him a good bit of resistance to heat, bullet penetration, and bladed weapons.

"Here, this is your new phone," Natasha said, handing him a sleek black phone no bigger than the palm of his hand.

Steve nodded, examining the phone she'd given him carefully. It was completely black, except for the red lights illuminating the buttons beneath the screen. As he was inspecting it, his thumb accidentally pushed against the screen, sliding it up to reveal the keypad. "Well, that answers one of my questions," he joked.

Natasha brought the display up to the menu. "Works exactly like a phone from the '40s; punch in the numbers and make the call. It's just got a few… extras. That symbol there will bring you to your list of contacts. It's like a digital address book. It allows you to save the numbers you expect to call, or receive calls from, the most. Agent Coulson insisted on being the first number saved. He's our retainer while we're partnered. That means if you need any S.H.I.E.L.D specific help or resources, you call him and he'll do his best to make it happen."

Steve nodded, thankful that Agent Romanoff was making her explanations simple enough for him to follow and understand. "You're the next number saved?"

Natasha nodded. "From now on, I'm your partner. When we're on assignments, we'll contact each other through short range transmitters, but if you need to talk to me when we're off-duty, you can just call." She left it at that, as she didn't think the Captain would be interested in learning how to customize his ringtone or play tetris on his phone.

Steve nodded and set the phone into one of the leather pouches on his waist, before turning around to face her. "Agent Romanoff, thank you for your help. I'm looking forward to working with you," he said, offering his hand.

"Likewise, Captain. I'm sure we'll get along just fine," Natasha replied, shaking his hand with a slight smile.

* * *

And there we go, the first chapter of My Shield. I know it's not the best, but it's only meant to set things up for the rest of the story.

The suit is the one from CA2:TWS, but I'm using a photoshop version someone did on the costume, which I'll post on my profile after this is up.

I've got half of the next Guardians of the Storm chapter written, but I'm sort of stuck on that, so I put it aside for the moment.

I'm holding off on the next Bonds of the Soul chapter because I want the manga to progress a little further, just in case something new is revealed that I might want to include earlier in the story.

I'm still buying books and doing research for Return of Revan, trying to find a clear order of events that happened between the movies, so that one will take a while too.

Most likely, the next chapter out will be Spartan Protocol, though I may want to get another chapter for this story up sooner, rather than later, to further establish how I want this story to proceed.

I don't really have that much else to say, other than to ask you to read and review and point out spelling or grammatical errors for me to fix.


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